Spirit to Spirit: Love, Distance, and the Modern Friendship

            

            

            In Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, there’s a moment when Jane says, “I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh: it is my spirit that addresses your spirit.” That line has always stayed with me, not just because it’s beautifully written, but because it captures something true about the kind of love and friendship that transcends distance, time, and even language. Jane and Rochester’s connection wasn’t perfect or easy. It was tested by circumstance, separation, and silence. And yet, across miles and without words, they felt each other. Their bond existed beyond physical nearness. It was soul-deep. It reminds me of the friendships that stay steady, even when life changes everything else. Spirit to spirit.

There’s something profound about a FaceTime call at midnight. When the day is over, the world gets quiet and a familiar face lights up your screen from hundreds of miles away. Long-distance relationships and friendships aren’t always easy, but they often feel like the most precious kind of connection: the ones we choose to keep reaching for, again and again. We keep these friendships alive because they carry history, depth, and truth. These are the people who remind us who we are, even when everything else in our lives is shifting. Whether it's a childhood best friend, a cousin who lives across the country, or a soulmate you met at summer camp, certain relationships settle into your life like anchor points.

There’s something beautiful about knowing who your people are, even when they’re not right there beside you. In some ways, distance distills love into its most essential form. You don’t keep in touch because of convenience or circumstance; you stay connected because you want to. You text them even when you’re tired, call them with exciting news even if the time zones don’t match, and save stories just for them because no one else would understand them the same way.

When I transferred schools and returned to California, I thought I’d lose everything I had in Colorado. I had this tight-knit group of friends, the kind you could sit in silence with and still feel understood. We had our go-to coffee spots, our chaotic late-night sweet treat excursions, and our post-class walks that were mostly just therapy in motion. Leaving them felt like tearing out a part of myself I didn’t know could be taken.

But the thing is, we stayed close. Not because it was easy, but because we wanted to. There’s something beautiful about that kind of effort. The texts don’t always come every day, and sometimes the calls are late and rambling and end with “Okay wait, I forgot why I called.” But we still show up. We still send outfit pics for approval, still ask for gut checks on weird texts from boys, and still find time to say, “Tell me everything.” It’s not the same as sitting across from them at the dining hall eating ice cream, but it’s a kind of closeness that runs deeper now. It’s chosen, deliberate. It’s sacred in its own way.

There are things I can only say to certain people, and these friends from Colorado, they’re my vault. They’ve seen every version of me, from the high-achieving girl trying to hold it all together to the one crying at 2 a.m. over something she couldn’t even name. I don’t have to explain why I feel the way I do. They just know. And maybe that’s what makes our friendships so powerful. They become mirrors of who we were, and gentle reminders of who we still are.

In a way, it’s what Jane Eyre teaches us, too: that emotional intimacy is built not just in shared space, but in shared understanding. Jane didn’t need to be physically beside Rochester to feel connected to him, just like I don’t need to be across the table from my friends to feel their presence. That kind of friendship, that kind of love, is telepathic. It lives in the in-between spaces, where time zones and texts and years apart still make room for connection.

We all have those people who live in different cities but are still our go-tos for life decisions. You might have a friend you text for fashion advice, another for boy problems, one who knows your family dynamics inside and out, and another who is your personal cheerleader whenever you doubt yourself. And it’s not always about the deep conversations, either. Sometimes it's just sending each other a funny meme, reacting to each other’s Instagram stories, or keeping a group chat alive with barely coherent updates. You find new ways to feel close.

Sharing life in pieces becomes the norm. You curate your friendship a bit more by saving stories for your next call and taking photos with the specific intention of sending them to each other. You tell them about the weird dream you had or the professor who said something that reminded you of a memory you once shared. Sometimes we’ll stay on the phone while getting ready for completely different nights in completely different cities. It’s strange and beautiful, feeling like someone’s right next to you when they’re really hundreds of miles away.

And when you do get to see each other in person, when the calendars finally align and the flights get booked, everything will feel warmer, brighter, more real. You will stay up way too late, laugh way too hard, and try not to think about how short the trip will be. The goodbye will always sting, but the love? It will expand.

Long-distance friendships remind us that love doesn’t require presence to be real. They remind us how comforting it is to know that someone, somewhere, is rooting for us. That someone cares enough to ask about our day, to remember our weird habits, to laugh at our unhinged voice memos.

There’s no one formula for keeping these connections alive, but there are things that help: consistency, even in small doses. Texts that say “thinking of you.” Calls, even if they’re rushed. Shared playlists. Inside jokes that somehow keep evolving. Plans that may or may not happen, but still get made because dreaming together still counts.

We keep these relationships because they matter. Because they remind us of who we were and make space for who we’re becoming. Because we all need those people, especially the ones we can count on, even across time zones.

So answer the FaceTime. Send the silly mirror pic. Tell them your exciting news, even if it’s small. Because some friendships are worth the distance. Some loves are meant to stretch and grow, never break.

Miss you guys ❤️